


castles in the air

by lateralplosion



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Resilience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralplosion/pseuds/lateralplosion
Summary: Fortune favors the brave—this much Chenle knows.





	castles in the air

**Author's Note:**

> for my dearest changles, whose love for chenle is so bright, wholesome, and infectious. happy birthday!! i hope you are gotten ♡

It's almost six in the morning when he lands, standing next to the baggage carousel with his phone out.

Chenle chews on his nails, watching as the Facetime call tries to connect. Behind him, one of the staff loads his luggage onto a cart, commenting on something that he doesn't really pay attention to. On screen, Chenle watches as his tired face vanishes, and the call goes unanswered. He sighs.

"No one will pick up at this hour," says the staff, steering the cart towards the exit. The corners of Chenle's mouth tug up as he pockets his phone.

"Guess I forgot," he says, sing song, as he falls into step beside her. Later, Chenle will blame it on the excitement of being back in Korea after nine months in China. He already knows what kind of answer he'll get in return, the pleasant scrunch of nose, the semi-affronted scoff made sweet by a smile. Eyes crescenting into half-moons.

"So energetic," the staff comments. "You must be excited to be home."

It's a small mistake, easily forgiven. Chenle knows what she means—home doesn't always have to mean the place you grew up, although, for Chenle, it does.

But there's a different kind of home too, one built less on the rafters of childhood and more on the shoulders of people he loves. On fourteen hour plane rides to Los Angeles, on studio floors at three in the morning. On his best friend's bed, the two of them huddled close together to watch a video on Chenle's phone.

There's a gentle, tender pull in his chest as Chenle squeezes his fists inside his pockets, the grin on his face going carelessly, helplessly wide.

"Yes," he insists, meaning every word. "It's good to be home."

  
  


 

 

 

Renjun comes by a little before lunch, clutching a box of BHC chicken that Chenle giddily takes from him at the door before Renjun can even take off his shoes.

"Man, I missed this," Chenle says, tearing open the cheese powder packet and pouring it unceremoniously all over the chicken pieces.

"Don't put it on everything," Renjun says, exasperated, sitting down across from him at Chenle's generous kitchen table. It hasn't gone dusty, which either means Renjun's kept his promise of stopping by every so often to check up and clean, or he's somehow managed to coerce Jaemin into doing it for him.

And good thing, too, since Chenle hasn’t been home ever since he left to film for Su Lun’s _The Way It Goes_ for four months, which had been followed by a whirlwind of accompanying CFs, fanevents, and guest cameos on various variety shows. He had been scheduled to come back to Korea after wrapping up with _Running Man_ , but— 

"My mom loved your solo," Chenle says with his mouth half full. "She keeps telling me it's time to marry you off already."

Renjun pulls a face at him, stabbing a chicken piece with his chopsticks. "I'm guessing your mom doesn't know how nonviable an option that is."

Chenle smiles slightly. "Jaemin-hyung's still in Japan, right?" As part of an experimental unit abroad, Jaemin, Jeno, and Donghyuck have been promoting their Japanese EP called _Cream Soda_ for the past couple of weeks, the title song a fun and funky dance number that had become wildly popular.

"Yes," Renjun says with a pointed look, and Chenle laughs. He would never understand the sheer amount of effort Renjun puts into pretending his heart is smaller than it actually is. But Chenle hasn't known Renjun for years for nothing, and Renjun has always worn his feelings plain on his face, even if he doesn't know it. The expression he's wearing now softens, goes careful.

"How is your mom?" Renjun asks gently. "Is she—"

"She's doing better," Chenle says, looking down at the table. "Having me home—" He swallows. "It helped."

"The others all told me to send their condolences," Renjun says, and Chenle nods, mindlessly scraping cheese powder off his chicken.  
  
"They'll be coming back soon, right?"

Renjun swallows. "Yeah."

Even though it's been far too long since he and Renjun have had a conversation face to face, each one of Renjun's nonverbal signals is exactly the same. The glass-clear resignation underscoring Renjun's words, but even more than that, the not-quite-resentment of being excluded. For all that Renjun tries to front, he's always been so easy to read.

"It'll all work out," Chenle says decisively. "I promise."

Renjun snorts. "You always say things like that," he says, but he's fond. "Such blind faith."

"Well, someone has to, right?" Chenle looks up at Renjun, who at twenty-one looks even more tired than Chenle feels. But deep down, Chenle knows Renjun is still clutching desperately at straws, holding tight to that fleeting, glimmering hope. "Believe, I mean."

Renjun reaches out to wrap his fingers around Chenle's wrist, lips curling up in a smile. "Yes. Someone does."

  
  


 

 

 

 _did u facetime me earlier?_   Jisung's text reads, two hours later.

_yeah, but you were sleeping like an idiot_

_who picks up at 6am?! @_@  
_ _wait... are you back???_

A grin spreads, unbidden, across Chenle's face, and he exits out of the app just to mess with Jisung a little bit, laughing to himself.

It turns out that that didn't matter anyway, because Jisung is banging down his door thirty minutes later, hair all wind-rumpled and eyes puffy like he'd just woken up from sleep.

Chenle tsks when he opens the door, cocking his head to look up at him. "Sleeping in until two? Shame on you."

"It's my day off," Jisung protests, still hovering in Chenle's doorway. For a moment, they both stand there looking at each other until Chenle steps back to let Jisung in properly.

"Have you been to the company yet?" Jisung asks, awkwardly toeing off his shoes in the foyer.

Chenle shakes his head, turning around to head back into the kitchen. Jisung is alone, which means the managers have either learned to completely trust him or that they've all but given up on him. Either way, Chenle is glad.

"Renjun-hyung came by earlier, though. He brought me chicken," Chenle says, gesturing at the empty BHC box. "Where's your offering, Jisung-ah?"

Jisung doesn't take the bait, frowning instead at the box on the table. "I wish Renjun-hyung had woken me."

Chenle swallows, the frankness in Jisung's voice an unexpected note, and turns to put the box in recycling.

"Not everyone can deal with your sleepy ass," Chenle says instead.

"That's because I have you to deal with it," Jisung says without thinking, and pauses for a moment when they both flush. "Have—have you started thinking about the song?"

Almost immediately, Chenle feels a smile spread across this face. Two weeks ago, one of the staff who had been there with him in China had delivered news of the new SM Station song in the works. It was going to be written mostly by Mark, but the song was intended for Chenle and Jisung. In all the years they've been idols together, they've never had a chance to promote like this, just the two of them.

"A little," Chenle says, leaving the kitchen with Jisung following. "I mean, Mark-hyung said he'd help us, but I've kinda thought about it, yeah."

"I tried writing some lyrics," Jisung admits.

Chenle raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Do you have them? Can I see?"

Jisung shakes his head. "Secret. You'll see when we start recording."

"That's no fun," Chenle complains, and plops down onto the couch, expecting Jisung to join him.

Jisung doesn't, standing there with the most carefully cautious expression on his face. "Chenle-yah," he says, quiet and hesitant. "I'm—I'm sorry about your grandpa."

The helium-light happiness drains out of his chest like it'd been punctured, and a leaden cold fills his stomach. Chenle swallows over a small lump in his throat, angles up a tight smile at him. "Thank you."

The silence after that goes thick and heavy, settling over them like seven feet of earth. Jisung shifts uneasily.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

For a moment, Chenle doesn't respond. He doesn't like to beat around the bush—much more preferring to get straight to the heart of the matter. But this is Jisung, from whom Chenle couldn't have hid anyway. Jisung has always worn his discomforts plain on his face, while Chenle has preferred to take his anxieties somewhere more private. But Jisung knows him, has known him, and Chenle couldn't lie to him even if he wanted to.

"It's hard," Chenle says, exhaling through his nose. Over the course of the years, Chenle has grown accustomed to the noise—Jisung's giggling, their seniors scolding them, the smothered fits of barely-suppressed laughter, the ruckus. These quiet moments are rare for them, disconcerting in their newness. "But for the most part, I'm okay."

Jisung smiles back at him, small but genuine, and a tiny tendril of warmth blooms in Chenle's chest. Maybe he's still learning to heal around that emptiness, but at least, for now, he'll have this.

  
  


 

 

 

He's in the studio with Jisung when the others return from Japan, in the middle of playing the demo track for their Station single. The demo—tentatively titled _Parallel_ —is a smooth, melodic number with hard-hitting beats. Chenle can already imagine the choreography they'll get, maybe even something choreographed by Jisung.

Jisung had just hit the replay icon on his phone when Donghyuck bursts into their practice room with little fanfare, bypassing Jisung completely in favor of making a beeline straight for Chenle.

"You've gotten taller," Donghyuck says, in lieu of a greeting, before dragging Chenle in for a full-body hug. The giggle this pulls out of him isn't forced in the slightest, Chenle wrapping eager arms around Donghyuck's torso to hug him back just as tight.

Jeno is next to amble in, smiling at him from behind his glasses, the magenta dye in his hair having faded to a gentle rose gold. Their concept in Japan had been wildly successful, their Japanese fans eagerly drinking in the EXO-CBX-style unit that the stylist team had doused in bright pastels—Jeno pink, Donghyuck aqua, and Jaemin mint-green.

"Yo, Jeno Lee," Chenle crows in English, detangling himself from Donghyuck to throw him a shit-eating grin. "Ass!"

Jeno immediately backpedals, flushing a brilliant red. "I knew I couldn't keep that from you."

"Are you kidding?" Chenle punches Jeno playfully in the arm, smirking. While all their Japanese had improved significantly, unfortunately this hadn't saved Jeno from saying _ketsu_ on one of the talk shows they'd been featured on instead of _kechi_. The video had gone viral on Weibo, much to Chenle's delight and Jeno's apparent horror. "I think I laughed for two hours straight."

Jeno grimaces, shoving Chenle back enough to loop a loose arm around his neck. "Remind me to never do anything remotely embarrassing ever again."

Donghyuck scoffs. "Impossible. Jeno-yah, your default mode is embarrassing."

Jaemin chooses that precise moment to stick his head into the practice studio, flying across the floor to wrap arms around Jisung's torso with a delighted cry. Renjun trails in after him, shaking his head fondly.

" _Hyung_ ," Jisung whines, voice strained because of how tightly Jaemin is hugging him. "Seriously, let go—"

"Ah, but hyung missed you sooo much," Jaemin coos into Jisung's neck, reaching up to pet the top of his head. Jisung's nose scrunches up, displeased.

Jeno laughs. "You haven't seen Jisungie for, what, three weeks? Chenle was in China for half a year and you haven't said anything to him."

Jaemin blinks owlishly at Chenle, tightening his grip around Jisung's torso defensively. "Yah, Chenle-yah," he begins, but Donghyuck cuts him off.

"Forget it," Donghyuck says, lips curling up. "We all know you're secret rivals for Jisung's attention."

"What?" Chenle says immediately, wrinkling his nose. "That's dumb. Jaemin-hyung can have Jisung."

For a moment, Chenle catches Jisung's eye, and something inexplicable and uncomfortable flashes across the space between them. Chenle breaks eye contact first, that cautious carefulness almost too much to face. Jaemin only hugs Jisung tighter, oblivious to the moment of tension, and Renjun sighs.

"Come on, Jaemin-ah," he says, curling a hand around Jaemin's elbow. "Management said they wanted to talk to you when you got here."

Reluctantly, Jaemin lets Renjun lead him out of the practice studio, and Donghyuck and Jeno follow. Chenle and Jisung stand there in the quietude, Chenle carefully avoiding Jisung's gaze.

"You know Jaemin-hyung," Jisung is saying, voice soft and apologetic. "You know how he's like with me."

Chenle glances up at him. "I know," he says. "I'm not trying to compete with him or anything."

Jisung swallows. "Well—you don't have to."

Chenle wonders what Jisung had meant by that. He wonders if maybe it's the silence that's wearing him down, breaking him apart in its hands like clay. Maybe going back to Korea was not the same thing as going back to normal, and maybe there would always be a part of himself that Chenle knew would never come back anyway.

  
  


 

 

 

This is what they don't tell you about grief—the void doesn't heal or get any smaller. Chenle used to think that time would heal everything, smooth over its edges, but he understands now, perhaps more than he ever wanted to, that the hurt will never go away.

It's in the downturn of his mother's mouth, in his grandmother's eyes. It's in his own face, he's sure, even though it's already been a month and Chenle no longer cries himself to sleep. This will always be something he'll carry no matter where he goes, and Chenle only hopes he'll have other things to carry him onwards, forwards.

  
  


 

 

 

"Oh my god," Chenle says, letting both himself and Jisung back into his house at around close to midnight. "That was so freaking _awesome_."

"I'm never watching a movie with you again," Jisung groans as they both kick off their shoes and make their way upstairs towards Chenle's bedroom.

"That's because you're a scaredy-cat, Park Jisung," Chenle says, cackling. He pushes his door open and flops down on his bed. "Park Jisung, scaredy-cat!"

"I don't like scary movies," Jisung says sulkily. "You know this."

Chenle rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his WeChat moments. "You're just like Renjun-hyung. Maybe you need to go sleep in Jaemin-hyung's bed? I'm sure he'd like that."

Jisung snorts. "I'm sure Renjun-hyung wouldn't. But I used to sleep in your bed too, remember?"

Chenle frowns down at his screen. "Yeah," he says. "That was like. Three years ago."  
  
"That's not that long ago," Jisung says. Chenle glances up at Jisung, who at sixteen had been too tall for Chenle's tiny twin mattress, back when Chenle was still living in the dorms.  
  
"I guess," Chenle says, and puts a sticker on Renjun's status update. Without warning, the bed dips and Chenle yelps as he gets nearly pushed over the side.  
  
"What are you doing?" he squawks. "You're _heavy_."  
  
"Am not," Jisung huffs, worming his way into Chenle's space, flopping down onto his stomach and smiling stupidly into his pillow. "Mmm, smells like you, Lele."  
  
Chenle feels his stomach do a nasty flipflop. "Yah, Park Jisung get out of my bed. You'll break it with your stupid big head."  
  
"Your head is bigger," Jisung snickers, promptly snuggling in under the blankets.

"Ah, Park Jisung," Chenle whines, shaking his shoulder. "If you fall asleep here you'll never get home."

"Then let me stay here," Jisung says, looking up at him, with eyes that are so open and full of trust. Chenle swallows. "Sleepover. Just like the old times."

Chenle holds Jisung's gaze for a moment, swallowing. "Okay," he says, hushed, and Jisung's smile softens, sweetens.  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Chenle says, and lets Jisung press up against his side. "Okay."

  
  


 

 

 

Mark invites him to the studio about two weeks before recording, on a day when Jisung is filming for Produce 101 as guest dance trainer. Mark looks like he hasn't gotten a proper night's rest in days, hair all standing on end from running his hands through it so many times. But Chenle knows the gleam in Mark's eyes, recognizes it from years before when they used to stay up late recording together, and knows that whatever Mark has for them, it's good.

"I've got the chorus," Mark is saying, glasses almost falling off the tip of his nose as he rifles through his notes, mostly pages torn out of a notebook. "It'll be like, easy but catchy. I think it'll do really well."

Chenle skims over one of the pages in his hands, sets it down carefully on the table. "Did you know that Jisung wrote some lyrics?"

Mark gives him a secretive smile. "Yes, but he told me to not let you see them."

Chenle frowns down at the pages full of lyrics, wondering what Jisung could've possibly written about that warranted such secrecy.

"You should write some too," Mark is all gentle encouragement now. "It'll be meaningful."

"What do I write about?" Chenle asks quietly. "I've never written lyrics before."

"This is your song together," Mark says. "Just write about what you've always wanted to say."

But Chenle's never held back on his words, has never hid behind any veil of insincerity or disillusionment. What else is left to say, for someone who's always said everything he ever possibly could?

  


 

 

 

 

"What's with you?" Chenle demands, rolling over on his stomach to peer at Jisung, who's sitting on the floor of the studio. "You've been quiet all day."

There hasn't been much for them to do except wait for Mark and the producers to be done with the song arrangement. Chenle still hasn't even thought about what kind of lyrics he'd like to write, but he'll get to that eventually. It's more fun, anyway, to spend the afternoon with Jisung in their practice rooms, learning cover dances.

"Sorry," Jisung says, wincing, and hugs his knees. "I'm just thinking about when we were in Shanghai and we were with your grandparents."

It's a sweet sting, the wistful giddiness resurfacing like a memory. Chenle remembers this too, the way his grandmother had drawn Jisung into her arms like he was another grandson, remembers the firm grip of his grandfather's hand on his arm.

"What about it?"

Jisung inhales deeply, rests his head on his arms. "Your grandpa tried to teach me that dance, remember?"

"Uh, yeah," Chenle says with a snort. "You were terrible at it."

Jisung flushes a pretty red. "That's cause I didn't know how."

"Well, wanna try now?"

Jisung scrunches his nose at him. "Try what—rumba? I can't do that kind of dancing—"

"Come on, main dancer Park Jisung," Chenle crows, standing up excitedly and dragging Jisung to his feet. "It's so easy, man."

Jisung's face goes inscrutable as Chenle tugs him out into the middle of the studio, arms hovering as if he doesn't know where to put them. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Chenle hums. "It's okay," he says, taking Jisung's hand and placing it on his shoulder, gripping the other one in his palm. He places his other hand on Jisung's waist. "I'll lead you."

There's no music, but it's easy for Chenle to close his eyes and remember the easy rumba that his grandfather used to play at Penglai Park, to nudge Jisung forward as the steps come back from memory. It's kind of awkward because he's shorter than him, but Jisung adjusts easily to let Chenle take control, staring down at him with an incomprehensible expression on his face, bottom lip tucked in between his teeth.

Jisung hadn't stopped growing, even in the nine months they were apart, and Chenle has to crane his neck up even more now to look at him. But even with the height difference, the space between their faces is just slight enough that Chenle steps back almost on instinct, leading Jisung into a twirl and laughing when he stumbles.

"Not bad, right? Stupid Park Jisung, I told you it's easy."

Jisung's teeth worry his lip, and Chenle feels his hand squeeze imperceptibly at his shoulder. "I miss him," Jisung says quietly. He recedes, lets Chenle nudge him backwards into a box step. "Your grandpa."

Chenle stills for a second, the music in his head bleeding out into the quiet, until there's only the startling frankness with which Jisung is looking at him, so careful and open Chenle has to look away. But even then, he can still feel Jisung's gaze on him, that tender gentleness searing a hot brand over his heart. Chenle comes to a halt.

"I do too," he says, finally. He's not expecting the quaver in his voice, the way the backs of his eyes burn white-hot. Chenle glances up, sees Jisung's carefully composed expression go suddenly blurry, and then Chenle is crying, holding Jisung's hand in one and gripping his waist in the other. Jisung tugs him forward by his shoulder, lets Chenle tuck his face into the dip of his neck and cry, every shuddering inhale talcum-sweet. Chenle is feeling himself come apart at the seams, but Jisung doesn't let go. And the world is turning soft and slow beneath his fingertips, but Chenle holds on.

  
  


 

 

 

Chenle goes to pick his mother up from the airport when she arrives, taking her luggage with both of his hands and pausing to let her cup his face.

"You look well," she tells him, gazing up at him with eyes that do not waver. "You look happy."

Chenle smiles, leans down and kisses her cheek. "I'm happy because you're here now."

His mother smiles and shakes her head, loops her arm through his as they head for the car that's waiting for them. "No, you're happy because that's just who you are. You don't give into anything else."

And maybe that's a little unfair, Chenle thinks, because in his whole life he's never met anyone as headstrong as his mother. His mother, who's flown all over the world with him—from Vienna, to Buenos Aires, to Beijing, to Seoul, and back. A woman who's never lost sight of what it means to be true to herself. Chenle is good at this too, but mostly he thinks he's learned this from her.

"It's been so hard," she whispers, sitting in the backseat of the car and squeezing his hand tight when he goes to take it. "But because of you, I can be stronger. You're so brave."

Later that night, after his mother has gone to bed, Chenle sits down at his kitchen table and starts to write. He's not sure what he's writing, but he picks up a pen and does not stop. Some of it is in Korean, some in English. Most of it is in Chinese, but that doesn't matter, because he'll ask Renjun to translate it later, but one hundred percent of it is honest. He writes about his mother, he writes about his grandfather, he writes about Jisung. He writes about himself, his dreams and ambitions spilling out onto the page, the parts of himself that had never been secret but maybe also never been verbalized. Because Chenle's never held back on what he wants to say, and he's certainly not going to start now.

In everything he does, he's always tried to be fearless. Because fortune favors the brave—this much Chenle knows.

  
  


 

 

 

"These are good," Renjun says, the smile on his face reaching up into his eyes. It feels knowing, somehow, like Chenle's being seen, but Chenle doesn't mind. He has nothing to hide.

"You think the fans will like it?"

Renjun scribbles a translation into the margin of Chenle's notebook. "Since when has that ever mattered? The Zhong Chenle I know does whatever he wants to do, because that's what the fans love most about him."

Chenle smiles slightly. "I know. I guess this is just different, somehow. Feels scarier."

"It'll all work out in the end," Renjun says, firm, and Chenle grins.

"Now _who_ has the blind faith?"

"I learned it from you, you know," Renjun says, closing the notebook shut and sliding it back across the table at him. "I've always admired this about you, remember?"

Chenle does. He remembers being sixteen and winding his arms around Renjun's neck as he listened to Renjun tell the camera how much he wants to be like Chenle. Even now, it still seems incredible, the memory of it never having quite faded away.

"I'm trying," he says, not quite to Renjun, almost to himself.

Renjun smiles. "That's all anyone's ever asked of you."

  
  


 

 

 

The recording tech's mouse hovers over the play button. "How are you feeling?"

Jisung fidgets next to him, fingers worrying the hems of his sleeves. "Nervous."

Mark smiles at them from beside the recording tech. "Don't be. It's good, I promise."

"I want to hear it," Chenle says, leaning forward. "Play it, please."

Jisung is quiet as the first bars begin to filter in, piano and bass juxtaposed over each other. It's a good sound, emotive and upbeat, but as soon as Jisung's rap begins Chenle feels Jisung go still.

He had not heard any bit of Jisung's lyrics since Jisung had first admitted to writing them, standing in his pajamas in Chenle's living room. But Chenle hears them now, the tentative and vulnerable words made all the more raw in Jisung's husky baritone. Jisung had written about stagnancy and stillness. About being scared to let go of something in favor of something better, about fear. It's alarming, he thinks, how well they fit with his own. And maybe, Chenle thinks, the song is the same for both of them. It's about all the things Chenle's never allowed himself to be. Brave and fumbling and reckless and bold, foolish with his heart and with his head—taking steps without knowing where they'll take him—and all the things Chenle wants to reach out for but has never tried. Maybe Jisung understands.

"I proposed a name change for the song," Mark says quietly, when it's over, his words ringing out in the following silence. "One that I think is more appropriate."

Chenle reaches for Jisung's hand under the table, locks tight to his fingers, holds on. "What did you call it?"

Mark smiles. " _Brave_."

The void in Chenle's chest is heavy, but Jisung's hand in his is heavier. If losing his grandfather had put a hole in his heart, then Chenle has people like Jisung to fill the spaces.

And this is what they don't tell you about healing—that it's just as much about what you gain as about what you lose.

  
  


 

 

 

"Why was it a secret?" Chenle asks him, ten minutes before _Brave_ is slated to drop on the charts. They're in Jisung's apartment huddled in front of Chenle's iPad, and all Jisung has been doing for the past five minutes is nervously refreshing Naver. "Yah, Park Jisung."

Jisung glances up at him, handsome face cast in the blue-whitish light of the screen. His brows furrow, the cutline angle of his jaw throwing shadows over his neck. "I just—I didn't know if you were going to like it."

"Idiot," Chenle says, reaching up to tug Jisung closer by his hoodie strings. "Of course I'd like it. It's you."

He can't see it when Jisung smiles, but he can feel it in the warm breath of laughter that ghosts over his face. "I liked your lyrics too," Jisung says, quietly. "They're very you."

Chenle smiles. "Is that a good thing?" he asks. He has a feeling he already knows the answer, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out for these things anyway. And Chenle will surge forward, the way he always does, and things will fall into place, the way they always do. Because being brave does not make the world any less scary, but he will have the comfort and certainty of the little things to ground him.

Things like Jisung's thumb brushing absently across the inside of Chenle's wrist. Things like being lulled to sleep by the soft murmur of Jisung's voice as it crackles through the phone over hundreds of miles of distance. Things like the solid presence of someone Chenle can rely on, an unwavering rock of placidity and support in a world where it's all too easy, he's discovered, to have the things you love taken away from you.

Jisung leans their foreheads together. "Yes," he says, and Chenle thinks he could let Jisung take the lead this one time. He has a feeling it won't be the last.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed, please consider leaving me a comment ♡
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/plosionlateral) | [cc](http://curiouscat.me/haetbit)


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